


Slipping Towards Crisis

by Anonymous



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Parent/Child Incest, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beautiful young woman keeps showing up at his clinic, and she doesn't even have a pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping Towards Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Rating for the subject matter.

All in all, Calvin Winslow was happy with how his clinic was shaping up. His first client was a walk-in, a giant St Bernard with a tick, and after that word spread. In his off-duty hours he was so busy managing stock and interviewing assistants he didn't have time to notice what was going on in the street outside the clinic.

A week after the official opening he spent his lunch break lounging at the cafe next door and noticed a familiar figure approach the clinic doors. The pretty brunette woman he'd met on the first day was back, peering through the glass. When she turned and surveyed the street, he caught her eye and waved. She walked over to his table slowly, fidgeting with her hands.

"Changed your mind?" he asked. She appeared to be confused, so he elaborated: "We'll gladly set you up with a pet. You look like a dog type."

"Oh." She smiled a little. "Nah, I don't think I have time for a dog."

"Stressful job?" he said.

Her smile widened incrementally. "You have no idea."

He stuck a bill under the saucer as a tip and rose. "Cats?"

"Allergic."

"Damn." He stared at her. "Something more exotic maybe?"

She hesitated. "Maybe. I'll think about it."

"Well," he said, "I'll be here when you've made up your mind."

She nodded and gave him a little wave when they parted. Later, when he made the rounds to check on a patient recovering from anesthesia, he caught himself humming.

 

His mind was on his patients when he was closing up two weeks later and he noticed someone loitering across the street. He was surprised by how quickly his muscles tensed and his vision narrowed, readying for a confrontation. When the figure stepped into the light of a streetlamp, he relaxed.

"Sorry, we're closed." 

"Just checking how you're settling in," she replied.

"It's going well," he said. He locked the door and turned back towards her. "Busy, which I'm told is good."

She nodded.

He hesitated, then asked, "Do you work around here?" He wasn't going to ask her where she lived, after all.

She seemed taken aback by the question. "Sort of," she said. "I'm in the area every now and then." Her gaze moved over the street, as if to check whether someone was watching them, and it set his nerves on edge.

"Well, I'm honored you check up on me." He grinned, and she looked embarrassed.

 

 

A week later he spied her from the reception. She stood outside, scuffing her boots on the pavement, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. He didn't go out to greet her - he had a surgery coming up. Her continued interest was pleasant but somewhat baffling, gradually invoking a sense of anticipation that accompanied their meetings. He made a mental note to make some gentle inquiries soon, and then stopped in his tracks when he realized that he was fully expecting her visits to become a regular occurrence.

 

 

"How about a hamster?" he asked the next time. They were both seated at the cafe since she'd arrived early into his break, and he had offered her a coffee, which she had promptly turned into a complicated order that probably didn't even contain caffeine anymore.

"You know, start small."

"Nah," she shook her head, "I'd feel sorry for the poor guy just running in a treadmill, never going anywhere." She brushed her hair out of her face and he was struck by how familiar she seemed, like someone he'd been waiting all his life to meet.

"It can be nice, staying in one place. If you've found a good place," he offered. It seemed to fluster her. She stared into her cup for a long minute, and he wondered, not for the first time, just how thin the ice was they were on, how far he would have to retreat into banality so as to not spook her. To his relief, she was merely deliberating her answer.

"Is this a good place? For you, I mean?" Her hands had tightened a little on the cup.

"Oh, sure," he said. "Not too busy, not too quiet. Interesting people." He winked at her, and she grinned. "I'm Cal, by the way. Daisy, right?”

She hesitated. "Uh, yes." She winced a little.

"Are you a secret agent? Can't give me your real name?" He smiled to take the sting out of the words. Judging by her reaction the joke fell flat as well and he was getting truly worried that they wouldn't be able to talk about anything.

"No," she finally replied, "it's just - I changed it a while ago and I'm still getting used to the new one."

"Can I ask what it is?" Her reluctance was palpable now, and he was glad that they were done with their drinks - maybe the next time they would get a do-over. "It's alright," he said. "One more mystery. Maybe you should ask me something."

She was grateful for the change in topic. "Do you like working as a veterinarian?" she said. "Or would you rather work with people?"

He shrugged. "I like taking care of animals. I thought about becoming a doctor, but it seemed so messy, too easy to get involved. And," he said, "animals are always innocent. Even a dog that bites can't help it."

She nodded and glanced at the street. "People can be… complicated." He didn't reply, hoping she'd continue, and she did. "My ex - uh, a former colleague - he was a douchebag."

"Is he the one you're looking over your shoulder for?" he asked calmly. She pressed her lips in a tight line.

"Sort of."

He fixed his eyes on her. "Are you in trouble?" There was nothing he could do, really, despite the sudden, intense desire to help. What did he have to offer, really - an empty flat? A few supportive phrases?

"No more than usual," she said, "and I can take care of myself."

He eyed her respectfully. She was tough, something he'd seen in the way she moved even the first time they'd met. "I'm sure you can, Secret Agent." He couldn't help but keep an eye on their surroundings as well though, and escorted her to her car.

 

 

The next time, Daisy actually entered the building. He was using his lunch break to draw up supply orders, and shoved them aside when she walked in. He caught her wincing when she leaned against the doorframe, and frowned.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Just had a small accident at work." She was leaning almost imperceptibly to the right, and tension lined her eyes.

"I could have a look?" he offered. She hesitated, then nodded, and he was absurdly pleased. She walked over slowly, and when she was standing before him shook off her jacket and raised her top slightly to reveal a bandage on her side, stuck to her tan skin.

"Did you already get it checked out?" He examined the area critically.

"I've got a pretty good doctor."

That was a small comfort. He tore the bandage off, revealing a neatly stitched cut at least a week old and a few inches long.

"Did you get in a knife fight?" he asked jokingly.

"Sort of," she said, and he paused.

"Seriously?"

"I told you, my job is stressful." 

Her skin was rising and falling under his fingers as she breathed, and she started to fidget again, so he re-focused on examining the wound. He felt unreasonably angry that she had gotten hurt, far more so than their current relationship warranted, and he tried not to let it show on his face.

"I could remove the stitches," he finally said. "And give you a painkiller?"

"Sure," she said.

"Come on, then," he said, and led her into the surgery room. She hopped onto the table while he collected a fresh bandage, scissors and pliers.

"Raise your arm," he said, and she complied with a wince. He cut and tugged the threads quickly, trying to ignore her proximity. This was why he hadn't become a doctor, he reflected, too messy.

"If your job gets too stressful, I'm still seeking another assistant," he said, disinfecting the wound.

"Nah," she said easily. "I like my job. Just maybe not the knife-fights."

"Does your former colleague have anything to do with this?" he asked, careful to keep his tone even.

"No, we've - I've dealt with that problem." She didn't offer more, and he didn't want to pry.

"There," he finally said as he applied the bandage, "good as new." He hesitated, fingers resting on its edge where it stuck to her skin. When he raised his head to face her, she smiled and moved away, tugging down her top.

"Thanks," she said.

"Anytime," he replied softly, and the moment passed just like that. They made small-talk for a few more minutes, then his assistant returned and Daisy excused herself.

 

 

She returned only a few days later, leaning against the wall outside and drinking a soda and looking relaxed and free from pain.

"Hey," he said as he stuck his head out the door. "Sorry, I've got a full day."

"It's okay," she replied, "I figured out your lunch hours anyway. I was wondering if you'd like to get food later?"

A rush of pleasant surprise shot through him.

"Of course. Do you have anywhere in mind?"

"Nah, I'll see what's in the area. Meet you outside?"

"I finish up at six," he confirmed. She knocked on the door frame in parting.

 

When he left the clinic he found her waiting patiently, dressed up in a dark blazer.

"You look nice," he said and she gave him a pleased smile.

"Figured I should dress for the occasion," she said. "I found an Italian place."

"Lead on," he said and she did, strolling at his side to the restaurant, her arm brushing against his every now and then.

She was calm during dinner, not gazing out the window even once, and he hoped that whatever trouble she'd been in, it was over. A small part of him wanted to take credit and preened that she was comfortable with him.

He ordered gelato for dessert, figuring that if he was indulging he might as well commit, and she followed suit.

 

 

She had a swagger in her step on the way back to her car, her laughter filled the air, and he was elated.

"Need a ride home?" she asked when they arrived. He eyed the convertible appreciatively.

For a brief moment he toyed with the idea that she might invite him over, but he didn't want to presume. "I've got to get to work tomorrow," he said reluctantly.

The silence stretched between them, and he noticed how close they were standing, how good she smelled. He had to lean down to kiss her, cupping her cheek in one hand, and felt her hair brushing against him. She tasted like gelato. He barely had time to enjoy the kiss, her lips soft and slightly open under his, before she stepped back quickly. When he opened his eyes she was still leaning into him, her face frozen in an expression of pure shock.

"Right," he said. He was cold all of a sudden. The street seemed darker.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

"Yes, sorry," he said.

"Oh god," she repeated. "I have to go." She fled, tires squealing on the asphalt, and he felt immeasurably old.

 

 

He didn't see her for two months, and it was as if the brightness has seeped out of the world. He hadn't realized how much he enjoyed her company until he spent his lunches alone and caught himself staring at the street, looking for a lithe form in a leather jacket.

"I apologize," he said the instant she walked through the door. His assistant stared at him curiously from the desk, but he ignored her.

"It's okay," she said. "Just-"

"It's just not what you're looking for?"

"Yeah." She was fidgeting again, and he wanted nothing more than take her in his arms, but she had crossed her arms over her chest and was keeping a careful distance between them.

"Does this mean you're no longer in the market for a pet?" he asked. His worry must have been pathetically obvious, and he was grateful when she cracked a smile.

"Nah," she said. "Maybe you can convince me over lunch."


End file.
